


the here and now

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [54]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dualscar is dead and Cronus is finally free. He moves out of the trailer park and goes to the urban sprawl of the Squalor to get a new start in life...but will he find happiness here? </p><p>Alternate title: "How Cronus Ampora got his groove back".</p><p>Takes place after "death of a seaman" and during "planting and uprooting".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the share house

**== >Cronus: Move into your new home**  
  
Well, this is it. You arrive at a giant house in the heart of the Squalor; not too far from downtown and the road led straight to the highway, so you could be at work within fifteen minutes. The ad called it a ‘share house’ but you know that’s the reclassified term since ‘tenement’ has a negative connotation these days. This kind of housing sprung all over the place during the colonization days: four or more families in a single building, sharing the hygieneblock, culinaryblock, and leisureblock with separate respiteblocks. It was cheaper to heat and maintain so the rent was lower. You’re just glad to have caught the ad in the New Jack Reminder. Blocks in share houses go quickly.

It’s a nice looking place too. Not as fancy as the apartments in East New Jack but for the Squalor it was quality. It had a red brick front and every window had cerulean rafters. Kits are gathered on the front steps, chatting between sips of Gatorade. There’s a gangly yellowblood missing fangs, a Prospit Carapace, a scrawny indigoblood, and a bulky looking bronzeblood. He’s definitely a fighter in the making and something about him reminds you of the Summoner. You approach the kits slowly. Your father had been an ass but not everything he taught you was crap, like how to tell if an opponent was worth messing with. This kit was not one of them.

You slowly approach the steps and hope these kids won’t mug you. The thought is a little silly but you’ve heard of stranger things in the Squalor. This part of New Jack is like an entirely different city, not just in neighbors but construction. Everything is packed together and there’s more trash, although it’s not riddled with toxic and muddy canals.

As you get closer to the stoop, the bronzeblood looks up with a friendly smile. “Hi there, stranger. What brings you here?”

Polite was not what you were expecting. Mostly because you were told everyone in the Squalor was either rude, an uneducated slumdog, an immigrant, or an ex-felon psychopath.

You give an awkward smile, “I'm uh, moving in here. On the fourth floor.”

The bronzeblood gives you a look-over but his smile grows. “Oh! A new neighbor! I'm Hercul Droog and I live with my Dad on the second floor.” He grins, clearly proud of remembering so much. “What's your name, mister?”

“Cronus Ampora...” you mumble.

Hercul giggles, “Another Ampora? Are you related to Barcus and Shiyin?”

You blink, then shake your head with a slight laugh. “I don't think so. Ampora is a popular surname in Denzia.”

The kit blinks, “Ooooooh...I didn't know that. Is it like Trussians and the Vantas last name? Or Bojangles and Nitram?”

You smile a bit and nod, “Yeah. Sort of like that. So where’s the landlady...?”

“Oh, Gertie? She’s in the kitchen. Today is Fifties Day I guess.” Hercul shrugs. When you arch an eyebrow at him he shrugs again, “You'll see what I mean. Here, I'll lead you to her!”

You follow the excited kit into the house, bags in hand and feeling somewhat out of place. The inside of the house smells like lemon cleaner and there’s not a speck of dust in sight. The entryway walls are plastered with pictures of past and current residents standing next to a spindly old woman with large glasses. You pass through a large leisureblock where a monstrous mutant blood sits in front of the false fireplace reading a newspaper. The man is not tall, but what he doesn't have in height he makes up for in bulk. The size of the mutant's forearms would put the entire trailer park to shame. As he is wearing only a simple t-shirt, you can see the various tattoos winding up his massive forearms (which have a rare smattering of hair). The mutant's face is cold, indifferent, as if carved from stone with how focused he looks. Despite all this, one hand lightly scratches behind the horns of a tiny purring red grub in his lap. The grub appears to have a tiny tail.

 

 

“That's Meliak Vantas. He's from Trussia. The grub's name is Karcin but I wouldn't get near him as he gets cranky and hissy about other people.” Hercul whispers as you walk by.

Meliak flicks his eyes up briefly, coldly regarding you and then returns to reading. The tiny grub opens one eye, then tenses and gives a growly hiss at you. His father yanks his tail, causing him to yelp. The grub then rolls onto its back and start batting at Meliak's fingers. You get a stab of nostalgia, thinking Karkat during his grubhood.

You must have been lingering in the block because Hercul pulls you along. You enter a small hallway between the leisureblock, culinaryblock, and diningblock, “Don't make eye contact.” Hercul whispers. “Dad says he's a Trussian mafia leader known as ‘Papa Lobster’ in these parts.” He grins. “So _cool_!”

You’ve only heard of the Trussian mafia in rumors. You always suspected Dirk was affiliated with them since he looked Trussian but that was never confirmed. You glance one last time at Meliak before following Hercul into the culinaryblock.

In the culinaryblock are three people. There is an old woman sitting at the table knitting while a large seadweller woman with giant earfins clangs about, putting together a meal. At the table sits a seadweller male with a boxer’s build and equally large earfins. He chats idly with the older woman.

“Now I'm not saying that their pizza is bad, but I _am_ saying that they need to step it up. Cold in the middle? That is a crime. A crime against all trollianity and then some. If I get another cold centered pizza, I'm going to hunt myself down a fucking oliveblood manager and give them a piece of my mind.” The male says, pausing to sip his coffee.

The female snorts. “Barcus, you ate it _anyways_. Cold or not.”

“I ate it in protest,” Barcus replies, earfins flicking back, “I only _moderately_ enjoyed the meal.”

The old woman chuckles and glances up, smiling and setting aside her knitting. She is wearing some sort of Fifth Age Troll June Cleaver getup complete with a pearl necklace. Barcus and the female seadweller look over as the old human comes around the table, holding out a hand. “Ah! You must be Cronus Ampora! Welcome, welcome! So glad to meet you! I am Gertie. Gertie Sburbi. I'll be your landlady for your time with us.”

You shake her hand awkwardly. You honestly didn’t expect the landlady to be a human. “Cronus Ampora.”

Hercul puffs out his chest. “I'm showing him and explaining everything to him about this place!”

“Did you tell him to avoid eye contact with Big Daddy L?” Barcus says with a flick of his earfins.

“Yep!”

“Good man.” Barcus chuckles, gets to his feet, and approaches you.

The man is tall and you’re sure could break you over his knee without a second thought. There’s a lot about him that reminds you of his father, except not being a complete bulgewad. Barcus extends a hand to you with a smile and you take it, offering your own smile. Then before you know it, he’s pulled you into a back breaking hug.

“Don't be shy! You’re an Ampora too! Practically family in my book! You can call me Barcus and this is my flushmate, Shiyin. Best Denzia cook in all the Squalor, right here!” He says, finally letting you go.

You stagger a bit, regaining your footing before clearing your throat. “Nice to meet both of you.”

Shiyin rolls her eyes though there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. “ _Bạldhục shnshairr rảhsạf hzlr lzl, Barcus._ ” She tells her matesprit in Denziena, then says to you, “Barcus talks big. He only says I am the best because I _always_ make fourths and fifths for him and his bottomless pit he calls a stomach.”

“Bah! It is called having a healthy appetite!” He says.

Hercul rolls his eyes and escorts you out the culinaryblock. You turn the corner following the young troll and stop, eyes widening slightly when you see another housemate outside his block. They’re checking a cellphone idly while a loud thumping beat comes out of the open door. You’re pretty sure it's “Getting Jiggy With It” by Troll Will Smith.

He has neon green skin. His eyes are pupiless like a carapace and the hands have a similar chitinous look, though the skin on the back of the hand and wrist look soft. On his head is a red pointed hat with a seven on it.

It’s your first time seeing a leprechaun. They’re a rare sight in New Jack, as most tended to immigrate further north to Calston or remained home in Germanium. The land had been irradiated since early colonization. Some high-brow Boxford scientists speculated that in the past they were Carapaces but after generations of living in Germanium’s irradiated woodlands, they adapted to it—thus the variety within the species. The few that immigrated had to be tested to see how radioactive they were. Trolls may be durable but they weren’t radiation proof.

The Leprechaun looks at Hercul. “This the new guy on the block?”

Hercul nods. “Yup! Cronus Ampora.”

“Crowbar.” The leprechaun says and he has what you assume is a Germanium accent. He looks you up and down. “From the trailer park, huh?”

“Well…”

“You look like it. In _desperate_ need of a fashion upgrade.”

“Who’s out there?” Another leprechaun walks into the doorway. This one isn’t as tall as Crowbar and they have a slight stoop to their spine. Their face is pointed and you can see a line of sharp teeth. On their head is an orange hat with a five on it. What could the numbers mean? Is it a gang thing or just foreign fashion sense?  “New roomie huh? Terrible fashion. Should take them out shopping so they can lose the trailer trash rags.”

You’re trying to be friendly so you give a strained smile, even though you want to punch the green guy in the face. “Hey, this is Fifth Age retro chic.”

“Is _that_ what they’re calling it now?” Says the other leprechaun. “Fin.” The sharp tooth leprechaun looks at Crowbar. “We _have_ to take him out.”

“After he’s all situated.” Insists Hercul, “This way, Mr. Ampora.”

You hurry along with Hercul but you’re not looking forward to talking with the leprechauns in the future. You only spent a minute with them and they came off snobby. You follow Hercul up the stairs at the end of the hall. “I’ve never seen leprechauns before.”

“Ms. Sburbi speaks Germanium and makes their native food.” You grimace and Hercul laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s not irradiated! Just Germanium sausage and _maultasche_.”

“Maul…tashie?” You mangle the foreign word.

“It’s like ravioli but super huge. Though for tonight we’re having a Betty Crocker cake and a Denziena dish. Shiyin is a really great cook.”

You think someone like Barcus had to marry a good cook. You’ve never had Denziena food before but you think it’s like Chinacanese or Chinese food. You’ll save money by eating someone else’s cooking.

The second floor is full of people walking the halls or chatting. Most of them are black carapaces, wearing traditional Dersite clothing. They must be immigrants straight off the boat as well. A skinny black carapace with an eye patch and suit walks down the hall carrying a toolbox. Following him a short is and curvy white carapace.

“I just think you should call the electrician.” Says the white carapace.

“We don’t need the electrician! We have me.” Answers the black carapace. He looks at you and then Hercul. “Who’s the fish?”

“This is Mr. Ampora. He’s moving onto the fourth floor with Daddy and me, Mr. Slicks.” Hercul answers. He looks at you. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Slicks. They’re good friends with my Daddy.”

“Please, dear. Everyone calls me Ms. Paint.” Chuckles the white carapacian.

“Do you paint?” You say, smirking.

“Of course I do! But it’s mainly a hobby of mine.” Ms. Paint says. “I mostly like designing clothes.”

“She’s the best designer in this city.” Says Mr. Slicks.

“It’s cute to see so many couples under one roof.” You say, smiling.

“Mrs. Sburbi prefers couples.” says Hercul. “They tend to cause less problems but I’m sure you’ll find a fish-wife.” He says that last part with a grin.

You smile back and ignore the stinging feeling in your chest. Your concupiscent quadrants are a barren landscape of missed opportunities and stupid mistakes. When was the last time you even _went_ on a date? Roxy didn’t count since you had been paying her. Pin-ups and body pillows _definitely_ didn’t count. Human women will always be charmingly exotic but they avoid most trolls like the plague. You couldn’t attract trolls if you were covered in sopor and Faygo. It really shouldn’t be a concern of yours. You’re just trying to get by on your meager paycheck. Being preoccupied with sex isn’t a good idea. That’s where things always get screwed up, like in Troll Romeo  & Juliet.

Hercul leads you to the stairs and whispers to you, “Don’t bother Mr. Slicks very often either. He’s part of the Midnight Cleaning Crew and his bosses aren’t really that friendly. _Especially_ to seatrolls.”

“I figured.” Anyone who calls you ‘fish’ aren’t the friendliest. They’re the type to look to start fights or bust your head in with a metal bat, like the Sons of Alternia or the Capricorn Brotherhood. The Sons of Alternia aren’t resourceful enough to hire carapaces though. The Brotherhood on the other hand… “How many gangs live here?”

“I dunno.” Hercul chuckles, “Daddy Droog just tells me which ones so I know who not to bother.”

It makes sense that this kid is so polite. You could get a knife in the face if you weren’t careful around this dangerous bunch.

You pass by the third floor but don’t linger here too long. It’s a mixed group of seatrolls in leather jackets and sailor uniforms, heavily scarred bronwbloods with missing eyes, olivebloods wearing face masks, and ceruleans with bright blue hair, elegant skirts, and heavy makeup.

Hercul gestures on the stairs to a muscular oliveblood woman with green streaks in her hair. She’s wearing baggy pants and lacks a shirt, only wearing bandages over her heftsacks. Her shoulders are detailed with a colorful tattoo. “That’s Catser Waulin, leader of the Hellcats. Don’t make eye contact with her either, because that means you’re challenging her.”

“What about the others?”

“Oh, the ones in the frills are the Demimonde. Daddy says they like sleeping with people and mugging them. Street Summoners are fighters too. Then there’s some speed tribes and biker gangs but they change their names so often. Many of them are just starting out.”

“How do you guys keep the peace here?”

Hercul smiles. “Ms. Sburbi has one rule: all fighting is bare hands and you have to do it in the yard so people can place bets.”

“That’s…economical.” You’re going to make a mental note to avoid fighting with anyone here. They all look like they could kick your ass. You’re not even going to risk the Demimonde since you heard they stash razors and chains in skirts and corsets.

You finally arrive at the fourth floor and you’re thankful because you’re sick of lugging around these bags. A large black carapace is sitting on the leisureblock couch, watching a romcom and look especially teary-eyed. You walk around him and into another hall.

“Mr. Boxcars. Don’t bother him when he’s watching romcoms.” Hercul says in the hall.

“I have a son that’s the same way.” Shit, being here is making you miss Karkat.

Hercul takes you to a respiteblock at the end of the hall and opens the door. “And this is where you’re going to be staying,” He says, “you’re going to be right next to me and Daddy Droog. Mr. Boxcar and Mr. Deuce are across the hall.”

You step inside the block and plop your bags on the barren mattress. The block is small but it’ll do since you own so little.

“The wifi password is ‘sburbi’ all lower-case and downstairs dinner is always at seven,” Hercul says, “I wouldn’t recommend eating on the other floors unless you’re invited. I think there’s a plug for a TV if you have one.”

“I don’t but thank you.” You smile at Hercul. “You’ve been so helpful and I don’t have anything to give you for leading me around.”

“My boy being helpful, fish?” A tall black carapace walks into your doorway. He looks intimidating as any purpleblood with his height and expression. In one hand is a black cue stick. You really hope he won’t beat you over the head with it if you say the wrong thing about his son.

You notice he placed emphasis on _my boy_ , as if he expected you to challenge it. “Oh, yeah! He’s been really helpful and so well mannered.”

Droog tousles Hercul’s finely combed hair. “That’s how I raised him. Kids always reflect what you say.” He pats Hercul on the back. “Alright, Hercul. Go check on the younger ones. Make sure they’re not getting into trouble.”

“Alright.” Hercul nods to you. “See you, Mr. Ampora.” He quickly leaves after speaking.

Droog smiles, watching him leave. “Only a year old and already the most polite fighter you could imagine.”

“A _year_ old?” Sometimes you forget how quickly troll children grow compared to human children. A human one year old would still be in diapers, while a troll was already down the street riding their bike. “You must be a wonder at parenting. My son still threw temper tantrums went he was one.”

Droog smirks. “Oh, I’m not saying tantrums _don’t_ happen. Trying to get him to read anything is damn near possibly. You just have to learn to deal with it.”

“I used to just put Karkat in his respiteblock and let him work it all out. Then he’d come out and say he was sorry.” It used to happen so often Karkat’s respiteblock was in a perpetual state of disaster, but better his block than yours.

“Karkat’s your boy?”

“Yeah...” Karkat and Eridan aren’t your children by blood but obligation. You still miss them.

Droog folds his arms. “Divorce?” You give him a quizzical look. “You got the look all over your face. Obviously you just came out of a long relationship.”

You shake your head. “It…was mutual. We had both moved on and decided, and we should separate.”

So what if Kankri had been part of your life for nearly two decades? You watched over him when he was sick or enduring one of his downward emotional spirals, all while taking care of Karkat and dealing with your father’s mockery.

You smile bitterly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You need a drink.” Droog pats you on the shoulder. “After dinner, let’s hit a club.”

Maybe going to a club would cheer you up. At least you could meet another troll and get back onto the dating market. You can’t just sit in your respiteblock and expect romance to float your way. “Okay. Why not?”

You get settled in your respiteblock but you don’t have much to begin with: just a bedspread, books, and posters. After you’re set up you return to the ground level since you have no interest trying to befriend street fighters or get mugged by ladies in lace and makeup. You sit in the culinaryblock with Barcus and Shiyin and actually socialize with someone face to face, after what feels like decades.

“So what’s Denziena like?” You ask.

“Oh, it’s a lot less developed,” Shiyin admits, “and a lot more watery and stringent. Because there’s a lot more seatrolls, there are a lot more canals and there’s stricter regulations on water pollution.”

“As long as you’re not a businessman. If you are, you can get away with anything.” Barcus snorts. “The corruption is awful there and now the conservative party, the Chnas Suira, have complete power. Things will only get worse.”

“New Jack is run by conservatives though.” you say.

“The Chnas Suira are troll conservatives. They make the humans look like cuddly little grubs.” Says Shiyin, all while icing a chocolate cake. “They’re strictly isolationist. They plan to close down Denziena’s borders and keep foreigners out and natives in permanently. They’re going to destroy all the machines and influences of the ‘foreign devils’ and return people back to the ‘glorious days’ of Alternia, whether they want to or not.”

Barcus shakes his head. “And that is no way to raise a child.”

“The UTC corps won’t like that.” You mutter, “Most of the textile industry is based in Denziena isn’t it?”

“I don’t doubt they’re already meddling in Denziena affairs.” Shiyin says. “As long as someone in the UTC wants jerseys, cardigans, or designer shoes, they’ll meddle as much as they want. Like when Derse wanted to raise the trade exchange for the expensive circuits and computers they assembled in their factories for boonpennies per worker.”

“Economics is the worst kind of demon, I think.” You say.

Barcus smirks. “Amen to that.”

“Enough politics.” Shiyin smiles. “Let’s set the table for dinner.”

You do help Ms. Sburbi set the table. It’s the least you can do. You can’t remember the last time you had a home cooked meal made by someone else. Kankri’s cooking is still in the danger zone and unless it was a grilled cheese sandwich it wasn’t worth the risk of asking Karkat to make anything. So you look forward to the dinner. There are two tables, a tall one for adults and a low one for children. It reminds you of Gobblebeast Day on sitcoms.

Denzienan food is a clash of flavors: sweet against salty, savory meat with fruit, all blended with citric herbs. The salad rolls are crisp, filled with chopped pork and prawn. This is served with fish stew simmered in coconut milk, fish paste, and rice congee. The stew tastes great but there are too many deadly little bones for your liking. For dessert there’s a moist Cocoa Fudge Cake and you think Betty Crocker herself couldn’t make it the perfect balance of sweetness.

“I haven’t had a meal like this in years, not even for Gobblebeast Day.” You say, taking another bite of your cake slice. You sit next to Barcus and Shiyin with Gertie at the head of the table.

“You never cooked for your family?” Asks Shiyin.

“Not. I… _we_ were always too busy to have a sit down meal.” You looked at Gertie, as she had supervised making the cake. “Where’d you get the recipe for this?”

“I used my Betty Crocker Cookbook. It’s been in my family for generations.” Gertie smiles. “You know, my ancestors came to this planet on the S.S. Crocker and left Young Britain on a WMS owned ship.”

“Oh, you’re from Young Britain? Neat. There were a few of them living in our trailer park in the past but most of them moved out.”

“Really? How interesting.” Gertie’s smile widens. “Has your family always lived in New Jack city?”

Meliak looks at her but says nothing, continuing to sip his vodka.

“Yes, I was born in New Jack City,” You say, repeating the lie you had grown up with, “but my family’s not from here. I don’t know exactly where they’re from. I lived in the Ninth Ward all my life but then I relocated here when my…matespritship ended.”

Barcus frowns. “Sorry to hear that. I know divorce happens more often in the UTC but it’s still sad to hear about.”

“It’s not a big deal. It was mutual.” The others are giving you a puzzling look, probably thinking you’re in denial about the whole separation. “My father was a…very strict conservative. He wanted descendants right away, so he pressured me into a relationship with someone I barely knew. We were only together for that reason but as we got older, we realized that we were adults and wanted something different things.”

That’s the PG-version of what happened and the version you always told Karkat when he was young. You force yourself to smile. “So, it’s fine. I’m enjoying the life of a bachelor.” You look at Crowbar. “Have you been quadranted?”

Crowbar opens his mouth but Droog says, “Leprechauns don’t _do_ quadrants.”

Crowbar glares at him. “We do the nine charms, if you want to make something of it, _carapace_.”

“Hey, save your fighting for the yard.” Gertie says.

That breaks the tension and everyone laughs but you notice the look Crowbar and Droog are still giving each other. That’s pure caliginousness if you ever saw it. You glance at the children, who are eating (and stealthily throwing food at each other). Hercul sits at the head of the children’s table like a well-mannered little adult, eating with a knife and fork. Karcin is the only one not sitting at the table, resting sleepily in Meliak’s arms. You think back when Karkat was a grub and all he would do was eat, sleep, climb, and jump around.

“They’re cute when they’re asleep…” Meliak looks up at you and you laugh nervously under his glare. “My son is a mutantblood and well, your grubs reminds me of him when he was tiny…”  

“Hm.” is Meliak’s answer and you have no idea what that could possibly mean.

“He is a very cute grub.” Shiyin smiles at Barcus. “I want to have plenty.”

“That’ll be easy.” Barcus laughs and Shiyin’s cheeks turn violet.

“ _Barcus, hirrin. Khiṇ zāirr shạl._ ” She whispers in Denziena.

You’re going to have to learn Denziena so you can figure out what they’re saying. It has to be something flirtatious if they’re suddenly being secretive about it. You enjoy the rest of the dinner over laughter and pleasant conversation. You talk about a variety of topics: the increase of tourism, the new events they’re having at Mirth Gras this year, which areas of the waterfront will have the biggest fight again. You’ve never really been excited for Mirth Gras. You’re not purple or fond of drinking and making poor choices, but you like talking about it.

After dinner you leave with Droog for the club.


	2. the black hole

Unfortunately, Crowbar drives you and he owns a cramped little Germanium car. Crowbar also drives like a madman all over the road with no regard for anything. You’re in the backseat struggling not to sound to panic about the speed or how Crowbar insists on talking on his phone. Droog is in the front seat next to Crowbar and Fin is pressed up against you in the back fiddling with a dolphin shaped cellphone. The streets are jammed with tourist traffic.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?” You say, your voice squeaking.

“You _Canzians_ fret too much!” Laughs Crowbar. “The best club in this city fills up quickly and if we get there too late, we won’t get in at all!” A car slides in front of him and you narrowly avoid a collision. The leprechaun shouts out the window. “Damn, Nanwalkians! _Learn to fucking drive!_ ”

“Fuck you, Lucky Charms!” You hear the other driver shout. Nice to know that people from Nanwalkie are just as rude as those from New Jack.

 _“No, fuck you!”_ Crowbar yells and continues the drive down the road.

“That doesn’t answer my question…” You mutter.

“Leprechauns never give straight answers.” Droog snorts, “They’ve got a hard on for shitty riddles and shittier twists and stupid charms.”

“Jump up your own narrow ass and _die_!” Crowbar growls at Droog, “At least leprechauns have charms. All carapaces do is copy everyone else.”

“We do not, _goblin_!”

“I’d rather be a goblin than a _cockroach_!”

They continue their caliginous argument all the way downtown. You park at a garage and walk across the street to First Street. First Street is responsible for most of New Jack’s light pollution problem: glowing neon signs, fireworks, and anything else to add to the aura in the hope of attracting gambling customers. You never spent any time down here because you didn’t have money to gamble with or could afford show tickets. You pass by The Orphaner’s Treasure and Buccaneer’s Bliss to a club with a thumping beat vibrating out into the street. The LED sign has fifteen colorful planets moving around a black hole in a random pattern, like balls on a pool table. On occasion the black hole vomits bright green letters: THE BLACK HOLE.

The line, however, is packed with New Jack native and tourists. It goes down the street and curves around the block. Your jaw drops at the sight. “There’s no way we can get in.”

“Oh please. Lines are for _peasants._ ” Crowbar strides past the line and Droog and you follow.

The people in line don’t strike you as peasants. It’s a mixed group of well-dressed leprechauns, carapaces, trolls and humans all glaring at you. You feel underdressed and _definitely_ out of place. Droog refused to let you out of the share house in just a leather jacket and jeans so you’re wearing one of his pinstripe suits. Its baggy on you because of your height (or lack thereof). There’s no way you’re any superior to the lady in haute couture dresses or the guy in a Gucci suit. Fuck, you don’t even _recognize_ half these brands people are wearing.

Crowbar doesn’t spare the people one look. He goes straight to the front and approaches the bouncer, who is a giant leprechaun wearing a red hat with an eleven on it.

“Hey, pal, you can’t just—” The large leprechaun looks at Crowbar and scowls. “The fuck do you want?”

Crowbar smirks. “What do you think I want, Matchsticks?”

Matchsticks looks at Droog and you. “Was bad enough you was bringing cockroaches in here. Now you’re bringing _fish_ too. Stitch and Eggs aren’t gonna like that.”

“Eggs is a dangerous moron and Stitch takes himself _too_ seriously.” Crowbar smirks. “And when does anyone listen to _either_ of them? C’mon, Matchsticks. This isn’t high school anymore.”

Matchsticks looks you up and down and must decide you look harmless enough because he shrugs. “True.”

You go inside of the club and don’t make eye contact with the people glaring at you.

The inside of The Black Hole is multihued with neon and LED displays along the walls, floor, and ceiling. LED stars and horseshoes sprout from your feet with every step and you hear a musical note. It barely goes noticed in the club’s thumping music. People are all over the place. Some are playing virtual games in booths over frothing mixed drinks. Others are on the dance floor and a leprechaun DJ covered in glossy oil that gives his skin a brighter glow. On the ceiling are the bottoms of glass bowls, winding into each other with narrow pathways. Seatrolls float along the bottom, wearing gossamer dresses that flow out like the pluming fins of a betta fish.    

“What are those…?” You mutter, eyes skyward.

“Mermaids.” Crowbar rolls his eyes. “They’re pretty lame but customers seem to like them. If you pay them enough they dance or sing or serve you drinks on the top floor. Each floor has a different design. Ground level is dance. Second level is aquatic.”

“We should go the second level.” You mutter.

“Of _course_ you’d want to go there.” Droog chuckles.

“It’s nice here too!” It sounds so stereotypically that you’d automatically want to go to the second level. You don’t want to be served though. You want to wear one of those outfits and pretend to swim the vast waters of Alternia like in your childhood daydreams.

“There’s seven floors and they all have a different theme. _I_ designed the casino area.” Crowbar insists. “Let’s get a drink and then explore.”

Crowbar leads you to a bar maintained by a wide leprechaun with a blue bowler hat with a ten on it.

“What’s your poison, fish?” Asks Droog.

“I don’t know. I haven’t drunk in years.” You didn’t even drink after you culled your father and you didn’t drink at his funeral either. The only reason you went to the funeral was to watch over Kankri because you knew he was going to have a triggering attack sooner or later. You didn’t want closure or anything. Once again, you were going through the motions.

Maybe that’s why you decided to leave after all that time. There was nothing holding you back to the park anymore. Kankri had moved on, so had Karkat, and Eridan never needed you. No one needed you around anymore.

“Maybe just some juice to start me off with…” You mutter. You’re sure no one at the park misses your presence.

Crowbar smirks. “ _Lightweight_ , huh? _Parenting_ must do that to you. I remember when Droog used to slam back Clockwork Oranges and Rustblood Rum Swizzles like they were fucking Swedish fish. Then one day he comes home with a bronze egg and he’s sipping cranberry juice like some old man with kidney stones!”

“You’re fulla shit.” Droog growls, “ _You_ were the first one to give me a book’s worth of advice about raising trolls. Order us the special before you spend all night talking our ears off.”

“As if you have ears.”

“I have _ears,_ goblin! They just don’t have cartilage like a human’s!”

“ _Holes_ don’t count as _ears,_ you knob!”

Crowbar orders you three ‘Archangel Absinthes’—two straight and one virgin. When you get the drink it’s frothing and fizzing lime green sparks. It comes with a curvy straw and when you pull it out, there’s a bright green snake inside. “Uh, is this…?”

“It’s a candy snake. Leprechauns love snakes.” Droog says, “You think we put _real_ snakes in drinks? And don’t worry. Its _synthesized_ absinthe.”

You take a cautionary sip of the drink and find it ridiculously sweet, like drinking cherry-lime syrup. You’ve always had a sweet tooth so you suck it down, grinning. “What’s absinthe?”

Crowbar is sucking down his drink, cheeks flushing. “You don’t know what absinthe is? Did you never go to parties in high school?”

“Of course I went to parties. You are looking at the party king of Momary Ossen!” You sit up and wobble, feeling suddenly off balance. A present buzz fills your thinkpan. “ _Whoa_. What’s in this drink?”

“ _Absinthe_...” Droog says, smirking.

“Absinthe is alcohol distilled from Germanium clovers.” Crowbar says.

“ _Alcohol_?” You look at the drink, which you’ve already sucked down three quarters of. “You said it was a ‘virgin’!”

“By ‘virgin’ I mean ‘does not contain additional alcohol’. Usually there’s rum with it—” Crowbar says.

“That is _not_ the definition of ‘virgin’! That’s not even _close_!” You see a bright green flicker in the corner of your eye. “What was that? I just saw something.”

“Probably the absinthe. Sometimes it makes you hallucinate.” Droog says, calm as ever. He drinks the rest of his down and starts eating the gummi snake. “Never bothered me.”

“You’re too _serious_ for imagination is why.” Crowbar says, finishing his.

Your vision is still sparking with green will o’ wisps. “A-and it’s just alcohol doing this? You didn’t drug me did you? Wait! Isn’t everything in Germanium fucking _radioactive_?”

“No, it’s just the alcohol and yes, it’s a _little_ radioactive but not anything that should hurt your internal organs. You get more radiation using a cellphone.” Crowbar grabs your arm. “Calm down and dance with us!”

“But I don’t know—”

“Let’s go! C’mon!”

You haven’t danced in years. Fuck, you didn’t even go to prom or most of the school dances. You always skipped out, preferring to hang with the ‘cool kids’ and by ‘cool kids’ you mean Mituna, Latula, Kurloz, and Rufioh smoking weed and dropping mind honey behind the gym or at Mituna’s house. Getting high as shit and making out with people you didn’t know and didn’t care about.

The green fairies are dancing with you. The night transforms into a blur and you jump into a green pool that may or may not be there. You surface and look at the ceiling. A hologram of a large eyed woman waves at you and her small mouth is grinning. Stars surround her and you ride the calm ripples of the water and you realize in the grand scheme of things, that nothing else matters. Fretting over money doesn’t matter. Worrying over Karkat doesn’t matter because everything is beautiful and everything works out in its own way.

For one glorious moment, you feel every burden loose from you and you are truly finally free.


	3. what happened?

 

You wake up on your bed. Your face is itchy and you’re wearing a long gossamer dress. You slide off the mattress but fall on the floor. Your legs are asleep. You stagger into the hallway and into the hygieneblock. Your thinkpan is pounding. In the mirror, your face and shoulders are streaked with purple and neon green. It’s dried on and won’t come off just by scratching at it. Glitter is everywhere on your bed and you have waterproof lipstick smeared on.  

What in the fuck did you do last night? You try to recall but last night is a blur of thumping dance-pop and green fairies dancing alongside you. You need to wash this crud off. You leave the hygieneblock to go get a washcloth from the closet when Hercul walks down the hall.

Hercul sees you and smiles. “Oh! You’re awake.” He looks you up and down. “Did you have fun last night?”

“I have no clue.” You mutter. “Did your Dad bring me back here?”

“Yeah! You were in that dress when Mr. Crowbar and Daddy came back from clubbing.” Hercul says. “Mr. Crowbar said you dove into a pool and pretended to be a mermaid.”

You really want to kick Past Cronus. “And the _paint_?”

“I don’t know about that…” Hercul shrugs. “Was the club fun? I wanna go clubbing with Daddy but Daddy says I’m not old enough yet.”

“I think it was…” You’re starting think you’re a little too old to party like that. You have the worst kind of headache and your limbs are aching. “Please tell me Ms. Sburbi makes breakfast. I don’t think I could make _cereal_ with this headache…”

“Ms. Paint makes breakfast but I’d hurry. Pancakes goes fast!” Hercul trots down the hall and descends the stairs.

Pancakes sound good but you have to wash this ridiculous paint off first. You jump in the shower but no matter how much soap you use or how hard you scrub, your skin retains a purple-green hue and the glitter refuses to leave. You look like a troll-leprechaun hybrid. Worse still, the green paint has meddled with your black dyed so you have an emerald streak in your hair. You put on a baseball cap so no one will notice until you wash it out. You learned the hard way that re-dyeing hair to fix a current dyeing situation never works out. Just have to wait until you have fully wash out the dye and start from scratch. You debate about what to do with the dress. Its still nice and it’d be a waste to throw it away. You decide to store it in one of your boxes. For now you throw on jeans and a T-shirt and head to the ground floor again.

The diningblock smells strongly of coffee. Everyone is sitting at the table, eating pancakes with slab bacon on the side. Droog is eating biscotti and has more fruit on his plate than anyone else. Crowbar is across from him. Ms. Sburbi is sipping tea and wearing a psychedelic shirt with grey hair flowing today. It must be Sixth Age day.  

Droog sees you and smirks. “Looks like the rainbow fish is up.”

You sit across from him and next to Crowbar. You get pancakes from the stack in the center before Barcus can get more. He already has a sizeable stack on his plate. Meliak is next to him, foregoing pancakes for a dark rye bread topped with butter and what looks like a giant mug of milky tea. Karcin has a saucer with a small syrupy pancake on it that he’s ferociously tearing into.

“What happened last night?” You ask.

“Don’t remember huh?” Crowbar chuckles. He also has a giant mug of coffee but has slices of cheese to accompany the sausage on his plate. “You drank Archangel’s Absinthe, we danced, and you insisted on seeing the second floor. We brought you there and you flirted with some of the mermaids. You convinced them to let you borrow one of their dresses and you jumped into a pool. Then we had to drag you home because you were still hyped up afterwards.”

“I did all of that…?” Fuck, you don’t even remember what said mermaid looked like. You hope you stashed their number away somewhere.

“You’re pretty charismatic when you’re high out of your skull.” Droog says.

“You had Archangel’s Absinthe? Oh, _my_ that’s an evil drink. Had a lot of fun on it, though.” Gertie chuckles. She’s not in the Betty Crocker get-up today but looks like a Sixth Age hippie, complete with beaded necklace and frayed jacket.

“You _went_ to that club?” You can’t picture a sweet old lady partying there. You try to picture her as a teen but you just see a shy girl.

“I _invented_ it!” Gertie laughs. “Though it wasn’t at that club. That club wasn’t there when I was a girl, but I used to be a bartender at The Orphaner’s Treasure. So much fun! Couldn’t pull me from that place even if you had the Grand Highblood’s strength.” 

“Did you stay a bartender?” you ask.

“Oh _noooo._ Serving was just a job but show business was my _passion._ ” Gertie’s grin widens.

“Were you a singer…?”

“Ventriloquist! Had a few marionettes and told some jokes. The people loved it, though that was back in the Fifth Age when it was popular. Nowadays, people are creeped out by puppets.”

“I can think of few who aren’t.” Dirk comes to mind.

Gertie’s grin widens. “Would you like to _see_ my puppets?”  

Oh gods. You didn’t mean _you_. You find puppets creepy as fuck. Still, you can’t turn down this sweet old lady. You think it’d break her heart. “Sure…”

Maybe this won’t be as bad as you think. You’re only scared of marionettes because you saw too many horror movies focused around them as a kit. Puppets still can’t be creepy. You’re an adult after all.  

 

A half-hour later you are in Gertie’s respiteblock and you want to kick Past Cronus in the shins for thinking puppets weren’t creepy anymore. There are marionettes hanging from the wall, dangling and glaring at you as if they’re getting ready to eat your soul. The respiteblock has all sorts of little knick-knacks on the nightstand alongside pictures.

“Do you like them?” Gertie chuckles.

“They’re…interesting.” You say, doing your best not to get freaked the fuck out by all these scary puppets. You notice a photo on the wall of six leprechauns wearing various hats. You recognize the hat with the seven on it and look at Gertie. “Is this Crowbar as a kid?”

“Hm?” Gertie is currently studying the yarn organized in her closet. The woman must have enough yarn to make a hundred sheep in there, all clean and ordered. She walks over to you and squints at the picture. “Oh, yes that’s him! The thing about leprechauns is that they may be small but they’re little adults already, just like trolls. Well, except some never _quite_ grow up like Eggs.”

The ‘dangerous moron’ Crowbar mentioned. “Is Crowbar his real name?”

“Well, no. Leprechauns are _very_ superstitious. They never give out their real names, not even to authorities. They keep their real names secret and just go by nicknames. You know,”—Gertie takes off her glasses to wipe them and you see a scar over her left eye, making it useless. She puts the glasses back on—“in leprechaun lore, a crowbar is what you would call a ‘juju breaker’, something that disrupts the flow of the universe and the magic within mysterious paradox space.”  

“You know a lot about leprechauns…” You look up and see a particularly creepy marionette is staring at you. It’s wearing bright green and you’re sure you’ve seen it in your nightmares at some point…but it’s also familiar. “Wait, I know this puppet. This is...Lil Cal isn’t it?”

“I was wondering when you’d notice him!” Gertie laughs, looking up at the puppet. “It’s hard to believe I just found him lying in my family’s attic all those years ago. He was an heirloom. Lords and Ladies know how long he’d been around. He was my original ventriloquism act. He’s old and beat up now but that’s the original Lil Cal. Jim saw me perform one night and he said ‘That would be great for children’. It took years but he finally got his little show off the ground…I was so proud of Jim.”

You see the tears in her eyes. “Jim was your husband?” She nods and it clicks in your head. “Oh my gods. Your husband was Jim Lomax…the famous puppeteer. Oh wow! I used to watch his shows all the time when I was little! I still watch Exile Rock when I can catch it.”

 

 

Gertie’s face flushes. “E _veryone_ in the world has seen Exile Rock and Lomax Street by now. That show’s been on for decades and my great-grandchildren have seen it by now. I still get the occasional fan letter asking me what it was like to live with the famous Jim Lomax and his amazing muppets. Lil Cal has always been the most popular of them. He originally had a bright green outfit but because the studio used a green screen digital backdrop, it didn’t show, so they gave him different clothes for the show.”

“But you should be living in a condo or a mansion on the West Coast. Why stay here in the _East_?”

“I grew up in this part of New Jack City. I couldn’t bear to leave it and the house was very empty after Jim died. I wanted a new start.” She smiles. “I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Of course I do…” You say gently. “Can I ask you something?”

Gertie smiles. “Whatever might it be?”

“How do you know Papa Lobster?”

“I know a lot of people, dear!” Gertie laughs and walks to the door. You follow her. “It’s all part of show business. I knew most of the mayors of New Jack City and the current one, major property owners, civic leaders, and all the original puppeteers on Lomax Street and the current ones. I’m a social butterfly.” She grins. “Now let’s get out of here. It’s a beautiful day outside!”

You’re just happy to leave the respiteblock. You go to the porch overseeing the vacant lot in the back. It’s an enclosed space surrounded by neighboring buildings. Part of it has become a garden and there’s a picnic table and a barbeque set aside. Droog and Slicks are sitting under the shaded corner, enjoying the heat of June while avoiding the direct sunlight. Gertie is next to them knitting. You don’t care about getting too much sun. You’re built for more extreme temperatures than this, so you sit in a plastic chair in the direct light. Even under the sun, your headache starts to fade.

“I’m surprised you’re not more hungover, fish.” Droog says.

“Just have a headache but Amporas don’t stay hungover for long.” You grin. “My old man used to drink like, well, a fish. I used to sneak drinks from his wine cabinet all the time. Two of his favorite past times were drinking and hunting.”

“Sounds like mine. Yours die of cirrhosis of the liver?” Droog asks.

“Viral infection.” Of course you helped him without a bullet to the thinkpan. “Where are the kids at? Thought they’d be playing in the yard.”

“Nah. Once they’re a year old they don’t want to stay here with their old man and lady.” Droog says. “They play down the street with the other kids. Slicks wouldn’t know anything about it though because he’s going to be old and withered before he has any offspring.”

Slicks elbows the other black carapace. “We’re the same age, dickweed!”

Droog smirks. “And yet I’m _still_ more mature.”

The two start to fight but you can tell it’s brotherly in that they don’t hurt each other too much. Slicks is smaller but gets the upper hand on Droog, putting him in a headlock.

“Are you two brothers?” you ask.

“Hells no we’re not _brothers_!” Slicks grunts. “I’d be a pasta and cappuccino obsessed fashion idiot if I was related to this jerk.”

“And I’d be an uptight asshole if I was related to _this_ idiot.” Droog answers. “I’m one generation removed from Nehetaly and Slicks is New Jack bred.”

Normally New Jackers and Nehetalian-Canzians want nothing to do with each other so they must have an especially strong friendship. “I’ve never been to Nehetaly. I heard it was nice.”

“ _Much_ nicer than this giant cesspit you call a city.” Says Droog.

“Oh please! You went to Nehetaly _once_ and you were fucking ten!” Snorts Slicks, “You forget to mention how people dump trash in all your pretty little villa canals.”

“Like it’s no different here!”

There’s a clatter behind you and a tall and wide black carapace steps onto the porch. He glares at Slicks and Droog. “I’ll separate yer two if I gotta! It’ll be fucking high school all over again!”

“Nice to see you’re up, _strutto culo_.” Droog snorts, “Tired of giving bad romantic advice, so now sticking your flat nose into other people’s pale?”

“We’re not pale.” growls Slicks.

“You two flip between pale and black and ashen so much I lost track of what you were a long time ago. If we was fucking leprechauns we would’ve had a whole box of Lucky Charms by now.” The big carapace looks at you. “Who’s this _fish_?”

You don’t like the way he said ‘fish’. It sounded more insulting than how the others put it. “The name is _Cronus Ampora._ ”

“The fuck kinda name is that?” Snorts Boxcar.

“Boxcar, this is our _new neighbor_.” Sighs Droog.

You stand. “What kind of name is ‘Boxcar’? Are you going to pack cargo boxes into your wide ass?”

“I don’t know. Is your bulge a fish stick?”

Now you’re just staring at each other, sizing the other up. He’s way bigger than you. There’s no way you could take him head on but you’re small enough to climb, scratch, and bite. You’d definitely get a good handle on this fuck. Neither of you move from your positions, refusing to give any ground to the other. Slicks and Droog look at each other but don’t say anything.

Shiyin’s laughter breaks the tension. You look from Boxcar to see the violetblood squeeze past him, holding a tray. “Oh my. I think this is what you call ‘hate at first sight’?” She holds up the tray. “Lemon squares?”

“ _Hate_?” You don’t know how to respond to that. Boxcar is…large and muscular but he’s a carapace. A _carapace_! Human-troll relationships are scandalous enough. Troll-carapace is just unheard of and the very idea is ridiculous. “Like I’d _ever_ do that.”

“I’m not _desperate_ either.” Boxcar snorts.

“Neither am I!”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

“What’s it matter to you?”

“I can smell romantic hopelessness is why!”

“Bullshit you can!”

“You stink of desperation and romantic failure!”  

“It just means I have hope for the future! Love never fails, wide load!” You hear a cellphone click and look at Droog, who is holding up his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Uploading this to Trollbook.” Droog says, smirks.

“Give me that phone!”

“Nope. It’s been a long time since we had something hilarious happen.”  

Your attempts to retrieve the phone are foiled by Droog being faster and more agile than you. When you get tired of chasing him around the building, you look at your Trollbook on your iHusk. Droog must’ve gotten a hold of your iHusk last night because he’s already added Crowbar and himself to your friend’s list. You see Crowbar uploaded a picture of Boxcar and you. Crowbar’s already re-uploaded it with some glittering Blingee add-ons, including dancing balloons, horseshoes, and rainbows. You have no idea what any of that means. You decide not to get worked up about it. It’s Saturday so you’re going to relax. You go to the leisureblock but Meliak is sitting on the couch watching cartoons. Karcin is in his lap, occasionally chirping at the screen. You don’t make eye contact with him and sit on the opposite side of the couch. Karcin is too distracted by Lomax Street’s colorful muppets to pay attention to you.  

Its then your iHusk starts vibrating.

 

\--crabbyConquistador[CC] began trolling cursoryAquarium[CA]!--

 

CC: so youre into carapaces now? 38*

CA: no im not into fucking carapaces! and howv did you even see that picture?!

CC: you were tagged in it is stupid do you not understand how trollbook works fishlips

CA: do not start calling me that name again. fuck you pink girl.

CC: its fuchsia not pink!!

CA: fuchsia is PINK.

CC: fuchsias is a mix of red and purple you fucktard

CA: its PINK.

CC: no its not cause fuck you

CC: ANYWAYS hows the squalor get a waste bladder infection yet from the water

CA: no because they boil the vwater here. and you should boil the vwater in the park too.

CC: well duh since i dont want vhs or fuckin digestive sack flukes

CC: oh look who else wants to talk to you

 

\--crabbyConquistador[CC] added guilefulActor[GA]!--

 

GA: Green is a very interesting co+lo+r o+n yo+u.

CA: oh god. not you.

CA: vwhy are vwe ewven talking?

CA: arent vwe supposed to be honoring the truce?

GA: I recall no truce.

CA: vwe made a truce newver to speak to each other!

CC: that was with rust witch bitch fiiiiishlips 38*

CA: the jade terror vwas supposed to be included!

GA: I am no+t a witch. If I was, I wo+uld’ve learned to+ gro+w two+ bulges, o+r mo+re depending o+n my mo+o+d.

CA: im sure youre talking to me for other reasons besides skeewving me out vwith the latest erotic atrocity youre thinking about

GA: Ho+w are my ‘erotic atrocities’ skeeving yo+u o+ut? I mean yo+u had a human fetish for who knows how long. And its no+t like yo+u hate the idea o+f multiple bulges.

CA: that vwas a long time ago.

GA: I do+ubt yo+ur tastes have changed. Yo+u may no+t be a co+mplete do+uchebag anymo+re but sexuality is so+mething yo+u can’t erase. We all have o+ur o+wn little kinks, like Meenah and warmblo+o+ds.

CC: hey its not my fault i got ice in my veins

CC: -EVERYON-E is warm compared to me

CA: thats different and im not gonna tell you about my kinks. i newver ewven told my old man about my kinks or ewven had the sex talk vwith him.

CC: none of us got the sex talk we just got tossed into a room with dolorosa and we got diagrams about positions

GA: Mo+m was info+rmative at least. No+ o+ne else had a clue abo+ut childrearing but her.

GA: And the reason we’re pestering yo+u, Cro+nus, is that we miss yo+ur anno+ying fishlippery. Yo+u’re the seco+nd o+ne to+ mo+ve o+ut o+f the park in a lo+ng time.

CA: i dont knowv vwhy vwe stay in the park. its avwful there.

GA: I like having plants and trees aro+und me. I wo+uld shrivel up in the Squalo+r.

CC: i had my fill of living in crowded urban areas i think if i move to the squalor i would just get unpleasant flashbacks of that shitty time

CA: newver thought you vwould be the kind to back dovwn from a challenge meens

CC: maybe younger stupider Meenah wouldnt of but when you get older you learn that havin things your way all the time aint so good for you

CC: if i didn’t learn that id still be a limehead

CA: i didnt knowv you had sopor problem.

CC: you werent around for it

CA: shit i feel like an asshole though not knovwing. i knowv vwere at each others throats a lot but youre still a friend.

CC: i guess youve graduated from butt monkey we make fun of to friend since youre less of a dick now

GA: That’s so+mething yo+u have o+ver Dualscar: having friends.

CA: vwhat?

GA: Yo+u didn’t kno+w Dualscar was basically friendless?

CA: i knowv jackshit about my father on a personal level. all our conwversations either had to deal vwith hunting or him grooming me to be a better descendant. i tried to bond vwith him but emulating him but i just turned into an manipulative ’nice guy’ vwithout realizing it.

CA: no. scratch that. i DID realize it. i just didnt care. it took me forewver but i finally understood vwhat i did vwrong.  

CC: dont think dualscar learned that

CA: nope cause you cant teach an old fish new tricks.

GA: Dualscar had always been the o+utcast. Everyo+ne belittled and insulted him. He was the butt o+f every mo+ckery o+r jo+ke. Even Darkleer had immense spite to+ward him due to+ the division+n between land and sea aristo+cracy. No+bo+dy wanted him aro+und.

CC: i always wondered why dualscar attacked kankri knowing dad was still alive and would probably murder him for hurting his son

CC: dad and kankri had their differences but he cared about him and kankri was doing a bit better until that point

CA: that is kinda weird now that you mention it. i always thought the signless vwould murder dualscar for that but he didnt. but after that dualscar newver really left his trailer.

GA: …Cro+nus, ho+w did Dualscar die?

CA: he had copd and like gods knowv vwhat else. he vwasnt exactly living in the cleanest of situations tovwards the end and he could barely mowve.

GA: So+ he suffo+cated?

CA: vwell he vwas coughing blood and he had these grovwths on his body.

CC: growths?

CA: yeah. like hard lumps on his back and along the gills from vwhat i remember. he couldn’t vwalk at all either.

GA: Cro+nus, co+ughing blo+o+d is no+t a sign o+f CO+PD and the same goes fo+r the gro+wths alo+ng the back and gills. That so+unds like a toxin infecting the bo+dy which led to+ cancer later o+n in life.

CA: toxin?

GA: Tro+lls are very hearty compared to+ humans. Certain to+xins do+ no+t tro+uble us but o+ne that do+es is cadmium. It’s a co+mmon to+xin since its used to+ make batteries, cellpho+nes, and o+ther electro+nic devices. A lo+t mo+re tro+lls wo+rk in manufacturing so+ yo+u see mo+re o+f them expo+sed to+ it. Co+mmo+n symptom+ms include: lo+ss o+f smell, dizziness, exhaustio+n, irratio+nal behavio+r, renal failure, muscular deterio+ratio+n to+ name a few.

CA: but dualscar didnt vwork. vwhere wvould he get exposed to that?

CC: where did he get the money to pay for the trailer from if he didnt work he couldnt been on welfare

CA: fuck if i knowv. it doesn’t matter because hes dead.

 

\--cursoryAquarium[CA] has left the conversation!--

 

The last person you want to fucking talk about is your father. You don’t care if he died from disease or if he was being poisoned for something he did in the past. He’s dead and that’s all that matters now.

You notice out of the corner of your eye that Meliak is looking at you. You know there’s a strict ‘no eye contact’ rule but there’s something about the way he’s looking that’s making your skin crawl. There’s a commercial on TV so now Karcin is growling at you. It just makes your vascular pump melt because you think of grub Karkat fussing at you in his pen because he hates nap time. One of your regrets is not having kids.

You also wish you could _afford_ kids. 

Meenah is trying to talk to you but you go offline. You keep your eyes on the TV and ask, calmly, “Something on your mind? I know we haven’t been…formally introduced like all the others.”

“We have, but you don’t seem to recall.” Meliak’s voice is low and everything sounds like a growl or a threat. His English is heavily accented with Trussian.

“We have?”

“We were at his wake.”

You look at Meliak and it takes you a minute to place his face. “Oh my gods. You _were_ there.”

You couldn’t get time off to attend the funeral so Karkat went to it alone. At the end of your shift you went to the wake and had to make your way through the sea of guests. There were black coats (there were _always_ black coats) and foreign trolls and humans. Among the sea was Meliak’s face glancing at you before turning away.

Meliak nods. “It’s been years. I do not trust seatrolls but _he_ placed great trust in you to protect his son, so there _must_ be worth in you.”

His son? Does he mean Kankri or Karkat? You smile weakly. “They don’t need me around anymore. They have matesprits and families of their own.” You look at Karcin, who is showing his tiny teeth. “Seeing your grub gets me nostalgic for Karkat when he was a little. He was just as hissy.”

Meliak scratches Karcin’s head and the small grub emits a purr. “Pure mutantbloods are more aggressive. They understand what has to be done to keep the peace.”

So he knows the truth of Karkat’s parentage as well? Did the Signless tell him or did he figure it out on his own? Karkat still doesn’t know and you’re dreading when he finds it out. You’re not even sure if _Kankri_ remembers yet. You glance around the leisureblock and see you’re alone, as the others give Papa Lobster all the space he wants. “Why is a _Trussian_ living with _Germaniums_?”

You barely passed history but you know those two countries hate each other for countless reason. “The Squalor is a neutral zone. No one truly owns it because there are so many immigrants that will only show loyalty to their home and no one else. We may spend all our lives in a battle, Ampora, but we do not wish to do it twenty-four hours a day.”

The front door creaks and you hear heavy footsteps in your direction. An older mutantbloods walks in. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, exposing his muscles and tattoos. “Staying huddled inside your shell while it’s a beautiful day outside, old man?”

Meliak sighs and stands, cradling Karcin in one arm. “Excuse me. I have to deal with my kismesis for several hours.”

Meliak’s kismesis walks over to him, biting his bottom lip. Karcin is purring at the sight of the other mutant. Could this be his mother? Meliak doesn’t strike you as the kind of troll to carry but you never know what people are like in private. You leave the leisureblock, letting the hateful couple have their time alone.

Sunday is a pleasant day. You talk with Barcus and Shiyin about seatroll concerns and issues, something you _never_ get to talk with others about. There are certain things not even fuchsiabloods understand, like the struggle between enjoying land, but also wanting to be in the water. Barcus and you have a lengthly discussion about raw fish vs. fried fish. You’re particular to fried but Barcus argues that fresh is always better (even though Shiyin insists he’ll eat anything and not really care).

You enjoy lunch and dinner, talking with your housemates. You may be on the fourth floor but you’re welcome down here. You’ve longed to have conversation with someone over a well cooked meal. Between watching Kankri and work, you rarely had time for face-to-face conversation, let alone someone over for dinner. It was always a quick prep meal and then straight to bed because you had to be up by five. Now you have people to talk with, laugh with, and even plan to go out with later. Your life no longer revolves around work and those few hours before or after work.

You miss the park but you feel so much more alive now.


End file.
